Title: Next Time You Want to Leave…

Summary: Oneshot. During/Post Hiatus. Jenny thinks about Gibbs. Loosely based on Rihanna's song "Rehab".

Disclaimer: I don't own NCIS, which totally bites. Or Rihanna's song "Rehab", which also bites.

A/N: Some lines are real, some lines aren't… I took what I liked and left what I didn't remember.

-

Jenny's POV:

The first thing I noticed was his hair. He'd shaved the sides, giving himself his pre-NCIS gunnery sergeant look. His tanned skin was rubbed red and raw by his wounds, and he looked almost innocent and simple, lying there.

I knew he was blistered, bruised, and nearly broken; yet I couldn't help but think that he was hanging onto himself by a wrought iron chain, as opposed to a thread. Thread didn't fit Jethro. He was stronger than that. This slightly scruffy Jethro wouldn't know me, but I was familiar enough with him…

When I touched his arm he started – I was slightly disturbed to see his usually composed expression morph into one that seemed almost frightened. "Shannon?"

He thought I was his dead wife. I forced myself to keep smiling. "No, Jethro. Jenny."

I must have come into focus, because he looked disappointed. "Oh."

I tilted my head, a nugget of worry eating at me. "You don't remember me?"

He looked me up and down, then gazed into my face. Suddenly a tinge of red appeared in his cheeks and he looked away.

I blinked – Jethro, embarrassed? What? – then realized what it was. Ohhhhhh. "You remembered us making love, didn't you?"

He didn't answer. A sure-fire yes. Excellent.

I smiled and sat next to him. "It's a good start."

Somehow, inevitably, the conversation turned back to Shannon and Kelly – the missing pieces of Jethro's life that I had only just collected. "They…" I cleared my throat. "They died."

He eyes widened. "What?"

"They're dead, Jethro."

He wrenched his hand away from mine. "No."

"I'm sorry…" I began, but was cut off by his howl of pain.

"I want Shannon and Kelly! Where are they?"

The doctor rushed in. "What happened?"

I tried to remain calm. "I'm sorry, it's my fault—"

"WHERE ARE THEY?" Jethro demanded. He began trying to rip out his IV.

I clasped his hand as the doctor called for help. "Jethro!"

He moved away from me and clutched his pillow as he was given morphine. "I miss them… I miss them so much," he whimpered – then broke out into little, wincing sobs.

I was stunned. His desperation – in his amnesic new world, it was like they had just died all over again. Oh, God.

My knees buckled, and I collapsed into my chair. This was something no one had a right to go through even once. And now Jethro – the strong, silent rock of my world – had gone through it twice.

-

No one could blame him for leaving. Not even me – and I loved him. I had reasons for not wanting him to go. I didn't know how I could make it without him by my side.

But that was how he'd felt about Shannon and Kelly, and he'd made it. And now, going through those feelings again, coupled with how all those poor people had just died because of the hideous bureaucracy of this country – he'd had enough, and I understood.

He told me he resigned and left my office. I watched from the landing as he said goodbye to his team.

A passing of the torch to Tony. A simple goodbye to McGee. A rubbing of the elbows with Ziva. And to poor Abby – a finger pressed to her mouth to stop her from speaking, and his lips on her cheek. She told me later that whenever she did something right, she could feel him kissing her, and smiled.

I wish he'd marked me similarly. This man, who holds my heart in his hands as he once held my body, left with hardly a word.

I'd told him when he left me in Paris that if he ever decided to leave me again, I wouldn't fight him. I'd just let him go.

I guess he decided to collect.

I guess that's what I get for wishful thinking

Should've never let you enter my door

Next time you want to go on and leave

I should just let you go on and do it

'Cause now I'm using like I believe

It's like I checked into rehab

And baby, you're my disease…